


Hawkmoon (the Devil Town remix)

by shihadchick



Category: U2
Genre: Hawkmoon AU, M/M, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkmoon keeps fewer secrets than people think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawkmoon (the Devil Town remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melissa2u](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=melissa2u), [occula](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=occula).



> Thanks to Kat for looking this over for me, and to Mel and Occula for their kind permission to let me use them as an example.  
> (Remix of [Hawkmoon, part 5](http://www.livejournal.com/community/u2slash/222473.html).)

There's not a lot goes on in this town we don't hear 'bout, one way or another. People got all kinds of secrets in a small town, hell, people got all kinds of secrets in a big city, too. Small town just hides 'em better.

Lot goes on here that no one hears about but the priest, come confession time when he makes his rounds out this way.

Well, the priest and us girls, that is.

You might say we're in the same trade, sometimes; sins and confessions and a comfort in the dark places of the night. Adam'd say I was prettying it up, that it's just as dangerous out here sometimes on our feet (or on our backs) as it would've been back east. He'd know that as well as anyone, for all that he thinks he hides it.

Doesn't hide anything nearly so well as he thinks he does, that man, all charm and sophistication with his home-country manners and courtly behaviour, the way he'll wink and smile and winkle a girl out of her skirts inside of a minute if she's willing (and everyone's willing, for him). Priest'd say that's a sin, that men and women shouldn't know each other outside of the bonds of marriage. Can't say as I see how that stops most folk, and doesn't hurt many, neither.

Gambling's a sin, too, to hear them talk down the churches on a Sunday, and it's the men doing the praying and kneeling at the pews who turn up back here on a Saturday, cards and dice scraping away their wages until there's just enough left to get one of us to kneel for them too. Our Adam's many things, but he's not a hypocrite, and for that we can all be grateful.

One thing he sure doesn't know is how you can curl up in that little alcove 'sides the stairs with a good view in on into the bar. I came back on down to hear Mr Evans on that piano a little more clearly -- you can hear what's happening downstairs from up in our rooms, and don't I know it, but the man has a beautiful hand with the music, like Mr Mullen with his horses, and I've always liked to listen. Don't get to hear that too often out here.

So here I am tucked away out of sight, and there they all are, fooling around like little boys, dancing and joking, drinking and laughing, with all the debris of their earlier games scattered round. Except-- not like children at all, really, are they? Because there's Mullen's hand hovering just above Evan's shoulders, face all twisted up like he's fighting something hard, hiding it whenever anyone he knows about could see him. And Adam, tense and hungry like a half-starved cat, looking for warmth and comfort and a good meal but only expecting a kick. Twists my guts up to see him looking like that, like he's aching inside for something that none of us can give him.

And I know who he's waiting for, too. That man who looks almost like a preacher, talks like a scholar, and argues like the Irishman he clearly is. There's nothing so special about him, you'd think, except for when you look closely. Or when you see the way that he makes other people light up. He sparked something in our Adam the very first night he was here, and anyone with eyes and a brain behind them could tell there's more going on up in that room when he's in town than sleeping and talking.

Most folk'd call that some kind of sin, too, men lying with men like God never intended 'em to, and they'd be the first to throw stones, run them out of town so we don't have their kind here.

Me, I don't mind that kind at all. And watching at Adam's face as his Mr Hewson blows on in with the storm (always likes to make the entrance that one, man shoulda been on the stage)... well, me I just call that love, and God bless them all for it.


End file.
